The Essence of Writer's Block
by Abigail-Nicole
Summary: There should be a rating for pointlessness....read on to find out why! Abby has Writer's Block!


**The Essence of Writer's Block**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Lily Potter or Hey Arnold. I do own Sydney Hopkins, (NOT Sadie Hawkins or even close) the Reformists, and the Tradizionale--they're in my REAL novel. So don't steal them.

Abigail sighed as she dragged her feet, slowly walking upward to the computer. She knew that she should be working on Last Week or her novel, or start a new fanfic, or work on homework, but….

She sighed again and stopped halfway up the stairs, wondering if anything good was on TV. Jumping back down again, she crawled over to the chair where she turned on the TV, looking to see if anything was on. She found a Hey Arnold marathon and sat down, content for the moment. But it was not to be. 

She shifted to sitting with her knees pulled up in the armchair, trying to get comfortable. But her knees were cramped. Flipping over on her stomach, she put her head on the footrest and put her feet up in the back of the chair. Her stomach started to hurt. Sighing again, she sat down regularly, putting her feet up, but that made her back hurt, so she tried lying on the back of the chair. No success. Sighing, she got up and opened the door to go outside on the deck. It was too hot. 

Abigail sighed again and came back inside, staring blankly at the screen. She had seen this episode…the one about Dino Spomoni and how he pretended to be dead. She sighed and changed the channel. Tom and Jerry. Rorouni Kenshin was on at six thirty and it was five twenty one. Abigail sighed again and turned to the stairs. 

Dear Abby climbed the stairs and sat down on the top stair, lying flat out over the floor, her head staring between the banister posts down at the floor below. The TV was still on. She sighed and crawled up to the banister and idly began counting the rocks in her fireplace. Then she flipped over on her back and stared at the bug crawling on the ceiling. 

Ignoring the bug, she stood up and stretched idly, then made her way over to the computer where she half-heatedly opened her novel. 

_Sydney Hopkins jumped into the building. "Now we have to get in and out quickly. Rescue the Tradizionale as fast as you can, or the Reformists will be on or backs!"_

Abigail stared moodily at the sentence she had just typed, then deleted it, watching the little cursor move back and forth on the screen. This wasn't working. Maybe the epilogue to Last Week? She opened the start of her Epilogue and typed:

_Lily stared into the mirror broodingly, her eyes traveling down to her stomach, which was beginning to protrude, just the littlest bit. She placed her hand over it and felt something move faintly under her skin. She should tell James. She Should. But she wouldn't…not yet. _

Abigail stared at the sentence, then frustrated, deleted it. Sighing, she closed Word altogether and pulled up Freecell. After her fifth half-played game, she sighed and sat back, scribbling curly lines all over her "Songs To Get" paper. 

_This isn't working, _she thought miserably. She picked up the phone to call Sticky. 

"Hey Sticky," she said. 

"Hey Abby," Sticky said. "Um, we're about to go right now, can you call back later?"

"Sure," Abby said dejectedly and hung up without saying goodbye. 

_Even my friends don't want to talk to me, _she thought dejectedly. She sighed and stared out the window absently, watching a dead wasp on the windowsill lie there, keeled over. She considered briefly trying to jump off the hangover to land on the couch, but had a feeling she would miss it. She stared at the still-open door below and hung over the railing, staring at the TV halfheartedly. She had seen this all before. 

If_ she _wrote Hey Arnold, some things would change. For one thing, she might insert herself, younger: a seventh grade babysitter, able to give Arnold and his little friends advice about going from "Hip"pie to gangsta—the new cool. 

_Hey, I could write a fanfic,_ she realized, and hurried to the computer to type out a fifteen page new fic—still unable to finish her novel or Last Week. But oh well. Go read her Hey Arnold fic!

So if you have writer's block…go watch Hey Arnold! And lay on your back and stare at the ceiling and go outside and call your friends and play freecell and stare aimlessly at your screensaver as the moving 3D clock goes by.

Well, that was pointless. 


End file.
